"No, not now," I said, as she held out her hand eagerly. "Wait till we
get home."
It was cooler now, and we wandered through the tents, chatting
patronisingly to the stall-keeper whenever we came to pink geraniums. At
the orchids we were contemptuously sniffy. "Of course," I said, "for
those who _like_ orchids----" and led the way back to the geraniums
again. It was an interesting afternoon.
And to our great joy the window-box was in position when we got home
again.
"Now!" I said dramatically, and I unwrapped my purchase and placed it in
the middle of our new-made garden.
"Whatever----"
"A slug-trap," I explained proudly.
"But how could slugs get up here?" asked Celia in surprise.
"How do slugs got anywhere? They climb up the walls, or they come up in
the lift, or they get blown about by the wind--I don't know. They can
fly up if they like; but, however it be, when they do come, I mean to be
ready for them."
Still, though our slug-trap will no doubt come in usefully, it is not
what we really want. What we gardeners really want is rain.